


Sins and Roses

by Annasanvk



Series: Magique [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15833556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annasanvk/pseuds/Annasanvk
Summary: Aubrey Claire Harper was an ordinary Magical teenager, with ordinary problems. Her biggest worries consisted out of getting through her first year of Med school, but everything changed when she witnessed a blond, sixteen-year-old boy appear out of nowhere on an industrial greenhouse, hurt and on the run.What would you do when the lines between right and wrong start to blur. Does the result truly justify the means?First part of a three-part series. Relationships established in this part, do not have to be the relationships that make it in the end (as with most teenage relationships, not everything works out).





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set during the last two years of Harry Potter's schooling, with a war on the horizon and during the second wizarding war. Part of this story will remain like the AU of the books, but there will be several differences. 
> 
> Starts in the summer of 1995. 
> 
> Draco Malfoy will not have taken the mark (yet). A Muggle-born OC from France, covering the war. This will be a dark story (my first try on really dark topics and contain murder, rape and explicit situations). If this offends you, than this might not be your cup of tea. Still, this might only be mediocre horrifying compared to the average horror story, but I wanted to warn people, just to be sure.
> 
> Enjoy, let me know what you'll think^^

Prologue

Aubrey Claire Harper had always been able to see what others could not. When she was a child that was not a problem. After all, young children tended to make up fantasy-friends, created imaginary worlds and saw things no one else saw. Imagination itself was accepted when you were young. Children used such narratives to pretend play and act out their fantasies in imaginary situations. They would and could create an alternative reality to fix their problems her parents accepted such an explanation easily.  
However, when Aubrey became older and reached the age on which Muggle children started school, her parents started to grow worried. Not only did she see creatures, as strange as they were fantastic, during their journeys to the Forest of Dean and their brief stay in Egypt visiting a family friend, she also remained sensitive for the strange forewarnings.

When Allyson was six-years-old, Mari and Elan Harper were on the verge of sending her to a therapist. The Harper family had come together to celebrate the recent birth of Gemma Harper, a pink little baby with little hair and a whiny personality, when Aubrey sat down next to her uncle and him — in a room full of their family members — that he should be careful when driving home later that night. Her uncle, who was a boisterous man with a large moustache and who Aubrey liked very much, had laughed indulgently at his six-year-old niece and asked what it was he should be worried about.

She remembered telling him very serious that his brakes would malfunction and that if he took his favorite red Lexus car, he would crash it into the thick oak tree close to his home. Her uncle had thought it odd, as Aubrey had never been to her uncle’s home before, but of course had paid the cryptic warning no heed. That evening, he still took his car home and as the second the last guest had left through the front door, her parents reprimanded her for trying to scare her uncle. It was only twenty minutes or so later, when the phone rung. Jean Claude had crashed his car into the thick luscious oak tree a mile away from his home. He was all right, apart from a nasty gash on his forehead and a sprained wrist, but the police thought the brakes of his car had broken down. 

Aubrey had literally foreseen something that had not happened yet. No one knew how exactly she did it, but as time progressed she kept seeing little bits about her parents and family members in the form of visions. Most of the time she saw things that had not yet happened and a few times the foresight saved someone from an injury or worse. 

When she was seven-years-old she had her first bout of accidental magic. They had been staying in an apartment-complex in Spain and a French girl who had been constantly teasing Aubrey about her reddish hair — it had been a good tint redder back then — had pushed her off of a cinderblock wall. It hadn’t been high. It had been built to protect the yellow flowers that bloomed, but to a child, it was still horrible. In a fit of anger Aubrey had made the child fall down that same wall, but instead of only receiving an abrasion, she broke her arm in three places. No one would believe it was Aubrey’s fault. All of the children had looked at her with raised eyebrows. She hadn’t even touched the other girl, so how could she have been at fault?

It made her parents think that, even though she did sometimes know what would happen or what had happened to someone, she was having hallucinations. Aubrey had been rather thankful when a Ministry worker came by several days later and explained what her hallucinations were all about. She got a wand in the Magical City of Paris and started to attend Beaxbatons’ beautiful chateau in the Pyrenees at eight years of age. 

During her schooling, she was an extrovert wild child, curious to the world and excited with the prospects of learning to control and to understand all that she could do. Every year, at September the first, she travelled via one of the light-blue carriages pulled by the two-winged horses to the school. Everything about magic had amazed her. She had loved it and when she graduated that love had remained, if anything grown even stronger. She wanted to finish her healer studies fast, so she could travel abroad and make a change. And making a change, helping those in need, would work the best, after receiving her healer-diploma.

It seemed like such a long time ago since she had those dreams.

Perhaps she was naive to think she could get anything as long as she worked hard. It certainly didn’t seem like working hard would heal the scars that would forever mark her soul.

She felt like a stranger in her own skin. She hadn’t slept well and kept waking in upset disorientation when there was no House-Elf grumbling to her to get up and eat. She inched away every time one of the Weasley boys came near her and her eyes flitted through the room with worried intensity, always looking for an exit. At night, she lay awake, unable to sleep for the dizzying confusion and the fear in her swirling in her head and the relentless thudding of her heart behind her ribs. Sometimes she thought what had happened had just been a nightmare, but then, as she sat up she felt the all-too-real pain in the back of her ribs and a throbbing behind her temple.

During one night she came awake from not her own screams, but of Mrs Weasley’s. Albus Dumbledore had died.

His funeral was held on the last day of June. It had been warm, the deep green foliage still in the heat of the day and her clothes clung to her body. The members of the Weasley family all decided to attend and since Aubrey appeared to be on suicide watch, she was not allowed to stay at the Burrow. She side-apparated with Molly Weasley and followed after a man who was dressed like the master of ceremonies. They were led to simple wooden chairs near the great lake behind the school. It was a stifling hot day, and the lake’s surface remained as flat as any mirror; without a ripple in the dark-blue water. 

Mrs Weasley kept a hand on her shoulder until they were allowed to sit. Reys of sunlight danced delicately across the water and threw Hagrid the giant into a strange unearthly glow as he carried Albus Dumbledore’s body, wrapped in a purple velvet spangled with golden stars, to the front.

Aubrey wore a simple black tulle dress to the funeral of a man she’d only personally met once. It was itchy and uncomfortable and she couldn’t shake the feeling that people were staring at her. Every time a sound was heard she couldn’t immediately place, she squirmed in her seat. Her pale almost greyish skin was gleaming in the sunlight and the nape of her neck was damp. She wanted to go home. Not to her parents, not to the Burrow, no, she wanted to go to the tent in the woods. The woods where she only had the small wildlife, birds and Draco for the company.

Draco, cheek purple and face pale, but no longer sickly pale, sat next to her, wringing his hands together, while the Weasley matriarch sat behind them. They hadn’t even hesitated when she offered to patch up their wounded if they could help them going into hiding. She had mostly offered because she truly wanted to help and because Draco practically had a mental break down with the idea of being captured by Voldemort. 

Aubrey hadn’t dared to tell them she was a seer, not ever wanted to be used as a weapon like that again and when Draco’s hand brushed hers, she grasped his hand as if it was her only lifeline. Being around him made her feel a bit queasy too, but at least she felt safe enough. She supposed that you couldn’t live together like they did without getting comfortable. 

She listened to the teachers of the castle and the various guests, among which Madame Maxime (taking up two-and-a-half chairs on her own), spoke about a man she had mostly seen in visions. A miserable looking Cornelius Fudge, nervously twirling a green bowler hat between his fingers, sat down next to a woman with blonde hair and a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hands. There was also a woman dressed in pink with a toad-like face sitting in one of the front rows. Her grief didn’t seem genuine and more than once several of the students glared at her. Yet, Aubrey couldn’t muster up the energy to care enough. She felt bad for the people who would miss him, but she felt worse for herself. 

Harry Potter was pale with grief and anger. The past several days he’d acted like a stubborn and defiant child. He seemed devastatingly eager to hurt himself, unwilling to admit that he might not be strong enough to fight a thing that had so much influence and power. His defiant nature felt somewhat familiar. She wondered if she had been like that too. Only seeing things in black and white, instead of the countless tints of grey. There was an animosity between him and the pale, tall, blond boy next to her. Potter seemed to despise his classmate, and although Aubrey did not know their history, she could tell they had trouble acting civil to each other. Anyone probably could tell they had trouble acting civil to each other. Yet, despite the bad blood between them, she could tell that Harry Potter felt the tiniest drop of pity for Draco. Aubrey understood that. She had felt the same tingle of pity when she wondered what Voldemort would make him do under the threat of killing him and his parents.

Ron Weasley stood before her. He was looking longingly at the bushy-haired Hermione Granger seated next to a rather pretty Ginevra Weasley, but she seemed unaware or not interested. 

“Even the Minister of Magic is here,” Draco whispered softly, his hand tightly encircled hers. “He used to be an Auror…”

Aubrey followed his gaze and noticed a man with a mane of tawny hair and bushy eyebrows. He had yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. His face looked hardened, mouth tight and eyebrows drawn. She didn’t think he was doing all that much better than his predecessor and she grimaced when the older man caught her gaze.

“Not the greatest Auror either,” Draco decided. 

“I see,” she mumbled. At the moment, she wasn’t too fond of the Auror department of the British Ministry of Magic.

The sun was hotly staring down at them, when the speeches ended. Bright, white flames had erupted around Albus Dumbledore’s body. White smoke spiralled into the air and the shadow of a phoenix flew sorrowfully through the billowing greyness. When the fire vanished, a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore’s body and the table on which his body had been placed, was in its place. 

“Come on, children,” Mrs Weasley said awkwardly placing her hands on Aubrey’s shoulders and steered her away from the tomb and around the lake. Hagrid the Half-giant, who definitely drank too much, howled with grief. His Half-brother, Grawp the full giant tried cuddling his brother (‘Hagrid okay, Hagrid okay!’). Most of the crowd had almost dispersed now and Aubrey was momentarily morbidity fascinated by the creation of Half-giants. She thought it must have been rather difficult to pair a human and a giant. Giants were large humanoid creatures and your ordinary human would be as tall as just one of their hands. Fornication between them seemed all but impossible.

“What are you thinking?” Mister Weasley asked softly. Just like his wife he acted as if he walked on eggshells whenever she was near. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing,” she muttered back and shrugged at his second question.

They looked at her with pity on their faces and an involuntary tremor seized her. She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest for warmth and evaded her eyes. It was odd that she suddenly felt this cold when the summer day had been so bright and warm. Or perhaps it wasn’t. She shivered and Draco dropped his blazer over her shoulders and she almost remembered not to flinch.

“Why don’t you go and have some supper in the Great Hall,” Mrs Weasley proposed and Aubrey nodded absentmindedly and stepped into the Entrance Hall. 

“Of course she’s not all right,” Draco hissed, “I doubt she’ll ever be all right.”

She shut her eyes tightly for a moment before quickening her pace. A geyser of pain vented through her head and her heartbeat was almost constantly erratic. Perhaps she should find herself a therapist. They’d probably think she was delusional, but she supposed the drugs they had, like anti-depressive, would be somewhat worth it. 

Wide motes of dust spun like ballroom dancers in the shaft of evening sunlight, slanting in through the hight windows and she slowly sat down on the wooden bench of one of the four house tables. She buttoned the jacket up and as she ate she listened to the whispering of the students around her. It was so much like having dinner during her days at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and achieved into an almost comfortable equilibrium. 

“Ah, Aubrey,” 

The comfortable equilibrium was gone. Hermione Granger, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks flushed, sat down in front of her. Her hair was wild and frizzy, more so then usual, and it looked as if someone had dragged a hand through it. 

“Hello,” she answered curtly when the silence started to feel uncomfortable. 

“Erm, how do you feel today?”

Several people had asked her that already. People asked her that all day and she took a deep, ostensibly calming breath and curled her fingers tightly around her cup of herbal tea. “I’m sure I feel just peachy.” 

She flinched. “A stupid question,” she admitted.

Aubrey twisted the lapel of Draco’s cardigan between her fingers before crossing her arms over her abdomen and inadvertently peered at her unfinished chicken breast with mashed potatoes. “How are you doing?” She finally decided on.

“Under circumstances, I’m fine,” Hermione Granger answered. “Is Mal— Draco, is Draco not coming along with you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, he isn’t here with you now, is he?” Granger asked simply, as if her question had been obvious.

Aubrey met her curious gaze and sighed, pushing her plate away. “He doesn’t feel comfortable around all of the students right now.”

“Right, of course,” Granger nodded and pushed her hair out of her face, curling it into an air-tight bun on top of her head. “I was wondering. I mean I know you were involved in the magic-altering of a Muggle boy’s body and I was curious, how you did it? I’ve read about it, of course, but it sounded remarkably difficult.”

“Erm, Hermione, I get that you’re curious and normally I wouldn’t mind entertaining your curiosity, but I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” she seemed slightly disappointed and poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice. “Can I ask you something else?” 

Aubrey waved her hand absentmindedly and looked around the dining hall. It had the shape of the arc of a circle. The walls were of flagstone and red-tinted sunlight streamed in through the high windows. She thought she would have especially liked the enchanted ceiling with the puffy clouds and— Hermione Granger was still talking. Aubrey had to concentrate on her mouth before her ears actually registered the sound of her voice.

“—and well, how did you think about the tent?”

“The tent?” She echoed dumbly.

“The tent,” Hermione nodded, “M— Draco told Dumbledore he stayed with you in a tent, that’s true right?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.”

“Well, how did you think of it?” 

Twirling her kitchen knife between her fingers, Aubrey gritted her teeth and felt the faint glimmer of shame and uncertainty that assaulted her almost every hour of the day slip a bit to the background, making place for an all to real irritation. Why was this girl this curious? “We passed a camping shop in London near Piccadilly. It seemed like a good idea. A tent is easy to set up with magic and easy to take down as well. We could travel quickly and with a few adjustments to our bags, we could travel light.”

Hermione steeped her fingers together, pressing them against her lips in thought. She sat close enough, that Aubrey noticed the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Granger chewed on the inside of her mouth and leaned her forearms on the wooden table. She seemed to overthink the idea of travelling with a tent. Shifting in her seat, Aubrey’s eyes narrowed. She knew Malfoy had spilt the beans about the Horcrux, but hadn’t known in how much detail he’d gone about their living arrangements. What she did know was that Draco used the bit about the Horcrux on the light side. Using it as leverage to successfully get what he wanted. Albus Dumbledore had wanted her to confirm that there were more Horcruxes. It was the only thing he wanted to know about her and he promised not to use it against her. Dumbledore was gone. Logic dictated that someone else had to hunt them down. Potter was the most likely candidate and Hermione Granger, his Muggle-born friend was logically his back-up.

“You might want to pack enough food and a map,” Aubrey finally decided on and Granger blanched. 

“What?”

“I’m traumatised, not stupid.”

“Right,” she nodded. 

“Oh, and if you go camping or not, you might want to learn how to control Friendfyre.” She said and got up from her seat just as Ron Weasley cautiously approached the table. 

“Friendfyre?” She squeaked. 

“Hm, hm,”

“Erm Hermione,” Weasley greeted and Aubrey noticed that his left cheek was smudged with dirt. He sat down next to the bushy-haired girl and Aubrey was almost painfully aware of his body language as he tilted into Hermione’s until they were almost touching. She was glad when Draco stepped up next to her and after briefly exchanging murderous glares with Weasley he beckoned her to follow him. 

“What did she want?” He softly asked, gently steering her out of the Great Hall. Several students curiously peered at them (mostly at Draco) and she shrugged. 

“I think she was checking if you’d been honest with them?” She answered. She wasn’t sure why Hermione Granger decided to approach her now. Perhaps Mrs Weasley had asked her to make small talk with her? Which made sense. Mrs Weasley had tried all but everything for her to open up.

“So they still don’t trust me huh?”

“I don’t think it’s like that. The adults, the Weasley’s, especially Fred and George— don’t look at me like that, you must have noticed that they kinda like you— either way, I think they trust you. Just Potter and his friends…”

“They don’t.” Draco finished and she rolled her shoulders.

“It’s more that they don’t particularly like you.”

“Well, I don’t like them either.” Draco sneered and she let out a hollow chuckle. Mister Weasley who had been waiting for them on the grounds winced slightly from the sound and pressed her lips tightly together.

Both he and his wife did not ask her how she felt when they returned to the Burrow. They settled into the kitchen and Mrs and Mister Weasley quickly found themselves something to do. 

“That was surprisingly thoughtful of them,” Draco commented and Aubrey followed him into the sitting room, slumping down into one of the old, ratty, overstuffed chairs.

“Yeah,” she agreed. They didn’t have many moments to themselves anymore. “You never told me how you got them to help you.”

He jerked slightly but slowly started to explain. She felt a little better when got so lost to his story, he stopped bing overly careful with her. When Aubrey disappeared on him, he had the questionable smart idea to take her car — which he assured didn’t even have a dent from the little adventure he had with it — and drove it to the Order’s headquarters. There he camped out in front of some house until one of the Weasley twins came out and he’d literally jumped him. The horrid surprise Fred Weasley got that day — jumped by someone who was presumed death — was quickly followed by a blackmailing tale to help him. Or at least by a tale hard to believe and a tiara with (‘for your information’) was Voldemort’s, so ha, he had something they wanted.

Aubrey smiled watery at him and felt a surge of malice pleasure run through her when she realised, without a doubt, the diadem was destroyed. 

“There are more of those things,” Draco casually remarked. 

She stared at him, not immediately understanding his implication. Until she did: “You’re insane,”

“Well, they say revenge is a dish you serve cold.”

She pursed her lips. “Yes, they do say that.”

They sat in comfortable silence and Aubrey curled her legs up from under her on the patched gingham armchair and Draco ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. 

“I’m not brave.” He admitted.

“Ain’t that right.”

“But—” he started accentuating that word clearly, “I do keep grudges. And this grudge— I want him to burn.”

She curled her toes inside of her ballerinas. The clasp of her bra was itching just below her shoulder blades and she rubbed her fingers over the little white scar slashed across her left wrist where the harsh piece of glass had cut into her skin two months before. Draco scratched at the stubble of his jaw and followed his hand as it settled on his knee. He was still wearing his dark funeral suit she pursed her lips. 

He wanted to go and hunt those things. He wanted to go and risk his life for a grudge. Someone should keep him out of trouble…

“All right,” she agreed, “sounds like a plan.”

He smirked. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

To be continued


	2. A choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Every choice you make has an end result', Zig Ziglar

Chapter One, A choice

It was a dreary August day. The rain lashed out against the windows of their small rented flat and the wind howled. The muggle radio was on and a news reporter explained in a creaky voice how a ruptured water pipe in the North of London and the accumulation of smoke from a nearby building (intern wiring exposed to water) had the police and the fire department evacuate the whole area. It wasn’t far from where Aubrey Claire Harper lived and she momentarily sucked her cheeks between her teeth, waiting for the reporter to expand on the problem.

‘Thankfully, the fire department think only the Isle of Dogs will have to be evacuated,’ the man continued in a voice that made her think he was doing this particular job too long. ‘The police advises for local residents of Eastern London, to keep your windows closed and—’

With a sigh, she turned the volume down and took a sip from her coffee. It was lukewarm and she grimaced before pouring it down the sink and making herself a new one. It was a chilly August day, rain clashing off against the windows and the clock at the wall above the kitchen doors ticked loudly, as if hoping it could overpower the sound of the weather outside. It couldn’t of course. Nothing could. 

She blew a lock of hair out of her face and leant back against the old wooden counter. As of the twentieth of May, she was sixteen-years-old. She’d graduated tens days after she turned sixteen and she was still fifteen when she’d officially enrolled into medical school on a scholarship. The University thought she was some kind of wonder child — she was not — and had believed her father’s silly sob story how he thought only homeschooling could challenge his gifted child. In truth, she had been homeschooled only several months before taken her GED certificates. She’d followed her normal schooling in France and Aubrey smiled.

How she missed the summers in France, where the sun shone and rain would only fall ever so often. In London, rainy days were a daily occurrence and it was the hardest thing to get used to. She took another sip of her coffee and stared at one of her university folders still laying on the table. She’d just finished her first introduction week and although dampened by her mother’s hospitalisation, she was still looking forward to the moment the lessons would continue. Mostly by the urging of her father, she had read through the first even chapters of her anatomy book and the first four of her physiology book. It helped in getting her an internship this summer and although she would mostly shadow different doctors (while keeping her mouth firmly shut), it was most entertaining.

Finishing her coffee she dropped the cup in the sink and looked around the old kitchen. The apartment had been her father’s when he was in college and back then, he had been reluctant to sell it. It served them well now she supposed. Crossing the kitchen to the window she watched the rain riveting down the glass. Normally, they had a perfect view of the outskirts of the capital of England, but today they looked as gloomy and as wet as ever. The sky was a mass of grey clouds and she absentmindedly picked at a loose threat on her guardian.

Half past five. Judy could be there any moment now and Aubrey stuck her head out of the kitchen and stared up the stairs.

“Gemma!” She called. It had been suspiciously quiet for the past half an hour and she wondered what her younger sister was up to now. The girl, only just reaching Aubrey’s shoulder was a real menace and, as she glanced at her wristwatch, she had only a few hours left to visit her mother in the hospital. “Gemma?” 

No answer. With a heavy sigh, she ascended the creaky old stairs towards the storing room upstairs. Old crayon boxes were assembling dust near the walls and the floorboards had darkened with stains. An old desk and a dark-wooden chair sat in one corner and the ugliest yellow vase that had ever been made and which Aubrey’s mother had once bought on a market, sat in the other. Aubrey’s little sister sat hunched next to a small box, her face startled and her eyes wide. Sandy brown hair stuck out in odd angles and her cheeks were darkened in agitation. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing! What do you want?” the child asked defensively and Aubrey raised an eyebrow. 

“I want you downstairs before the sitter is here…”

The baby-sitter, Judy an eighteen-year-old girl with dark, blonde curly hair and narrow eyes, looked after Gemma quite often. Although nice, Judy constantly wore too much make-up and spoke in a slang language Aubrey did not always understand. Still, the girl was always pleasant and had a way with Gemma no one else had. She had a patience with Aubrey’s younger sister, she did not possess and she loved the girl for it.

“No!” Gemma huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Dad said I didn’t need a sitter always! Thereby, I am old enough to stay home alone. Francisca always stays home alone.”

“Francisca is thirteen and you’re not. Besides, I won’t leave you alone to demolish this place.” Aubrey retorted and turned on her heel. When she had taken the third step of the stairs, she heard Gemma moodily follow her.

“But Dad said—” 

“I don’t care what Dad said to you to ease your ruffled feathers, Gemma!” Aubrey retorted irritatedly, stepping into the kitchen. “He didn’t say it to me and you’ve lied to me before.”

“It’s not fair!” Gemma screamed stomping her foot onto the floor for good measure and Aubrey felt her temple ache in a familiar sensation. She was losing whatever patience she had left.

“Listen, I need to do some grocery shopping and the doctors want to talk to me.”

“Is it about mum?” 

“Yes,” 

Mari Harper, Gemma’s and Aubrey’s mother, had been hospitalised for two weeks now. The forty-five-year-old woman had been through a hemorrhagic stroke and had yet to wake up. The subarachnoid haemorrhage had caused a severe headache while Aubrey showed her mother around the university building and although the paramedics arrived in ten minutes yet, the blood released by the brain haemorrhage might have had a direct toxic effect on the brain tissue. The treating doctors thought it might have been induced by the oral anticoagulants Mari had been subscribed after a heart attack five years prior, but couldn’t be sure. Either way, it wasn’t looking good and since Elan Harper had to pay for the hospital bills, he couldn’t visit often, leaving Aubrey to look after her younger sister until their father would take her back home to France. 

Sniffing angrily, Gemma stomped around the table and wrenched the chair back to face her with all the angry grace only a ten-year-old could. She sat down with a fierce scowl and Aubrey felt the muscle in her cheek twitch. Why was that brat this impossible? 

“When’s dad coming?” she demanded and Aubrey had to physically refrain from hexing the girl. 

“Tonight,” she answered off-handedly. “Did you pack your stuff? I’m relatively sure he wants to take you home tomorrow.”

“What? What about mum? Is she coming too?”

“No,” Aubrey answered slowly, “the doctors don’t think she’s stable enough.”

Gemma’s face darkened even more and just as she was about to throw a tantrum the doorbell sounded. Aubrey almost ran to get the door to let Judy in. They both winced as they heard Gemma yell and Judy shot a curious look at the older Harper sibling. 

“Don’t ask,” she muttered and Judy nodded slowly, shrugging out of her raincoat and hanging it on the hook. “I’ll be home around eight, is that okay?”

“Of course,” the girl nodded and Aubrey smiled thankfully. “I’ll have her in bed by then.”

Aubrey pursed her lips: “Good luck with that.” 

Judy only smiled and turned to face the stairs. “Hi Gemma, it’s me, Judy, I’m coming up, all right Love?”

Gemma grumbled angrily from the kitchen and Aubrey fixed herself a tired look through the old mirror in the hallway. Like her younger sister, she had a slim face with green-greyish eyes. Unlike her sister, who still had the complexion of a child her age, Aubrey’s face was complimented with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. She had a creamy complexion, a barely-there summer tan that didn’t quite cover the cluster of freckles on her nose, and thick, long auburn hair. 

“I look like I’ve died and got resurrected as a zombie,” she mumbled softly, tracing her fingers over her cheeks and Judy chuckled, kicking off her shoes. 

“Hardly, but I suppose your face misses the sun.” She answered and took the first few steps up towards the kitchen. “I see you tonight, yes?”

“Yes, you do see me tonight.” Aubrey nodded, peering away from her reflection and smiled at the other girl. “You have my sympathies with my sister.” 

Judy grinned again and ascended the stairs.

Aubrey listened absentmindedly to her soothing voice as Gemma her favourite woo-me tirade. Rolling, her eyes, she tied the cords of her hood together and met her gaze in the mirror once more. With weary fingers, she tried to brush the shorter lock of hair out of her face and made an attempt to smooth the tangled, wind-blown hair back. It didn’t look much better and after several seconds she gave up on the effort and threw her handbag over her shoulder. After a moment of hesitation, she wrapped her favourite summer-scarf around her neck, the bright colors matching snugly with her yellow rain-coat. 

Gemma’s voice sounded softly from the kitchen and Aubrey gave the door an irritated look before stepping outside. As long as their mother was in the hospital the sixteen-year-old would have to take care of her nine-year-old sister. A task that was no easy feat. It was tiring to have to fight with a shorter, smaller version of herself and with a condescending sigh, she pulled the door closed behind her. 

The streets outside were wet and the wind raked past her face, but at least it was dry. Thin rays of sunlight pierced through the hood of darkened sky above and Aubrey dropped her umbrella into a plastic bag. Her life was so much easier when she went to high school. Whatever had she been thinking speeding that part of her life along and starting college? Nothing good had happened during the past few months — except being accepted in college with a scholarship. That had been a wonderful day and even though, she was the youngest of the year — by far — she had thought it would be incredible. Turned out it wasn’t. She used sort of the ‘it girl’ at Beauxbatons, but she wasn’t at university. At university girls were older, knew each other from high school and simply spoke the English language better. She was’t bad at English per se, but French was her mother tongue. Her father might have taught all of his children English, but when your whole life is in a different country, you’ll hear it in your speech.

Sucking her lower-lip between her teeth, she stepped across the muddy pavement. Even with the clouds swirling together, the promise of more rain just above the darkness, children ran up and down the street, jumping over the large puddles. Their laughter and exciting screams following her long past she’d turned away from her block.

The further west she walked the tidier the houses became. Crocked and closely propped up next to each other, with their red rooftops and the cracked paint, seemed every so dreary in the rainy day, yet, Aubrey supposed they had their charm. Crossing the street, she pulled her hood up, the sky dark enough for the artificial glow of the street-lamps, sallow and dull, to twitch to life.

Thoughtlessly, she followed the sidewalk and crossed the street into a small shopping area. She passed the flower boutique and the shop which made soap, the sweet scent strong in the air. Wrapping one of the cords of her coat around her index finger, she curiously glanced into the small cafe limned with neon piping. At the bar, several middle-aged men were quickly drinking themselves into a stupor.

She grinned to herself before suddenly a cold tingle ran down her spine. It was a familiar feeling and she quickly stumbled into the right alley. The flagstone walls were damp under her hands and she slowly leant back, squeezing her eyes closed. Ever since she was a child she could see things. Could feel things. Knew the outcomes of football and later Quidditch matches. It wasn’t always obvious what something meant, just as it wasn’t now. Some gut feeling was telling her to follow this road. To move to the parking lot further up the alley and she blinked rapidly.

She hardly ever ignored one of her senses. 

Twisting the edge of her scarf between her fingers, she reluctantly started down the narrow road. Crossing a street, she huddled deeper inside her cloak and bowed her head against the soft drizzle starting down and lashing at her skin. The distance to the deserted street she’d seen wasn’t far, yet, she knew there was that much time. Why she was moving towards something where time was a problem, she wasn’t sure…

The wind was chilly, harsh against her face and she readjusted the knot on her scarf. A grey-and-black covered street slithered around the corner and behind the back of a building. As she continued forward, stepping out onto a dark sea of asphalt running the length of a football field, surrounded by a chain-link fence, she felt her eyebrows furrow. It must once have been the parking area for a factory or perhaps even a warehouse. At the end of the block, a street, no traffic at all, took a hard left to the right and on the other side of the street, small overhanging trees dipped and rose in the wind. 

It started to rain in earnest then and Aubrey realised it was too silent. Why was there no traffic here? A horrendous feeling settled in her lower tummy and she closed her eyes. A horrible blast played out behind her closed lids and she once more realised she shouldn’t be here. Whatever magical or non-magical would happen, this whole place—

She saw the pipes under the roads and there was something building. A loud crack, like gunpowder, made her snap around. A figure landed harshly on the wet asphalt, in a disarray of dark robes and blond hair. She winced as he slapped against the ground and for just an instant the boy raised his head. Briefly, two greyish eyes met hers, peering out from under his pale fringe. In that brief flash, she recognised the look of a terrified animal.

She tensed, nervously twisting a strand of hair around her finger. The blast she’d just seen was drumming through her bloodstream like a second heartbeat and she fearfully peered over her shoulder, suddenly realising what the newsreader on the radio had been talking about. Dark plumes of smoke escaped from one of the buildings not so far away and looked menacingly large in the narrow road. She pushed her damp hair out of her face and slowly took a step towards the boy.

He was pale, had the blondest hair she’d ever seen and he had appeared out of nowhere, obviously hurt. Blood was spreading down his side, darkening his once crisp white shirt and he staggered. She noticed the wand fisted between his white knuckled fingers and made a decision a split second later, crossing the distance between them. He hissed as one arm wrapped around his waist as he staggered forward, his wand dropping to the ground and she watched it roll away. He was heavy, even heavier when he stopped supporting his own weight and she reached for her own wand. The air mourning the large buildings vibrated with an energy it shouldn’t have and her fingers twisted tightly into his shirt. She didn’t care that someone could be out there, watching her, and tried to think where to go. Her thoughts a disarray of jumbled emotions. His wand rolled further away, getting stuck into a crack on the road and she dragged him towards the cinderblock wall, hoping to push him up enough to pull her wand completely free. 

Concentrating her hardest, she thought about her car and a moment later, she appeared behind an abandoned factory. The boy slumped down and she slumped with him. He was too heavy for her and she tried to remember where the entrance of St. Mungo’s was supposed to be. He was obviously magical.

“Why didn’t I pay more attention when I was led around?” She muttered softly. “Fuck, I can hardly bring you to Healer Patterson’s home…” 

“I can’t— No Healer— No one can know — Not Dumbledore— No one!” He mumbled and she gave him an exasperated look before pushing his plain, white button-up off his shoulders and peered at the numerous gashes on his chest and the large, sharp-edged wound down his stomach.

Her eyes widened, her face paled. The gash was long and ragged. It was deep and bleeding profusely. The signs of dark magic so obvious it made her skin crawl. Normal wounds she could heal. She might not be as adequate as a fully trained Healer, but at least she could help. Dark magic like this— She chanted desperately, moving the tip of her wand over the wound in circular motions. At least the blood flow stemmed a bit, but it would clearly not heal with the simple healing magic she knew. She wasn’t qualified enough to deal with dark hexes and jinxes like this. She had to take him to the Wizarding hospital. If only she remembered where that was supposed to be. 

“Merde, I don’t know where I’m supposed to Apparate you to get you to the hospital. Where again is St. Mungo’s?” She murmured, running her wand in fast circular motion above the wound before pulling her scarf from her neck and pushed it against his bleeding wound.

“No!” He croaked. “No one can know. No one can know!”

She stiffened, an involuntary tremor seized her. “What do you mean; no? You are bleeding out, you need to see a healer.”

“No— no healer.” He mumbled again before passing out. The hospital she was an intern at (and at which her mother was treated) was close by, but that was Muggle. Looking at his quickly paling face, she held her cheek above his face, more than relieved when she felt his breath wash out over her chin, plunged her hand in her bag, looking for her car keys. 

On finding them she cursed softly before getting over to her car and after a few tries unlocked the door. She levitated the boy into the back seat and threw herself behind the wheel, starting the engine. 

The car radio buzzed to life and a scared voice explained how a gas pipe had exploded in the outskirts of London. Even with the interference of the police and the fire department, there were many victims and the paramedics had a lot of trouble looking for survivors. Someone of the Government had already politely reacted, saying that the fallen were regrettable. 

Aubrey ignored the fanatic news reader and rove faster than any speed limits allowed. Several cars honked when she cut them off and she almost drove over a man crossing the street (fyi he was crossing through a red traffic light). Taking the lane towards the hospital as fast as she could, she almost drove straight into the entrance hall, parking it just before the entrance doors and turned towards the boy. In a fit of pure genius, she changed his hair colour from blond to black, quite sure the pale blond hair was an easy identifier and stumbled out of the car. Even, she, with a slight undertone of panic was running through her system, could recognise him. She was sure his family had enough finical influence to get the Muggle newspaper to advertise his missing and if he didn’t want to be found she needed to make sure he wasn’t recognisable. 

Looking back at it, she had no idea, how she got him inside, but as she wheeled him in on a wheelchair, she cried for help, the sound of her own voice ringing loudly through the silence. Several nurses with a stretcher hurried her way. 

“What happened?” a woman said and Aubrey recognised her to be the head of the nurses.

She hadn’t really thought about that. “I— We were robbed when taking a shortcut to the park. He’s bleeding heavily and anatomically the stab-wound is very close to the liver. It looks bad.” 

“And you took him here with your car?” a man asked, checking his pupil reflexes with a small light. 

“I didn’t bring a phone and there was no one around. I couldn’t very well ask my robbers to call an ambulance, could I?”

“Valid point.” The man admitted. “Pupil reflexes are stable but heart-rate is too slow. Beep up doctor Claudel, we need him. Miss—?”

“Harper,” Aubrey answered not missing a beat. “Aubrey Harper.”

“Miss Harper, do you know Mister— this young man’s blood type?”

She had absolutely, indefinitely no idea. With a helpless gesture of her shoulders, she shook her head. The nurse nodded to her colleagues and they started to wheel the teenager away. She followed after them, keeping her pace even with that of the nurse and chewed on her lower lip.

“Do you know his name?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, running through all of her French friends hoping she would find a name that would fit him. Than again—

“Bastien Baudouin.” 

“All right,” the nurse nodded, writing the name down — wrong if she might add — and pushed the clipboard into one of the pockets of her white coat. “Get him ready for doctor Spinet and Claudel.” 

“Yes, M’am!” One of the nurses nodded steering the blond boy through a set of double doors and the Head-nurse stopped Aubrey before she tried and followed after him.

“You have to stay here, Harper!” 

“Right,” Aubrey nodded, “I’m sorry.”

“Miss Harper, is this young man your boyfriend?” the Head-nurse asked and Aubrey blinked profusely at that question. 

“Erm,” she started. Was she supposed to say he was? If she said; ‘yes’, it would probably make visiting him much easier if he had to stay here (and rather obvious, he probably had to) and being his girlfriend might make it easier to get to him before he said something stupid. Yes, after he awoke she could ask him why the bloody hell he didn’t want someone magical taking care of him and find his parents. She supposed she could keep his secret until after he was awake and then write his parents. She sure as hell wasn’t going to visit them. If they were anything like her first boyfriend’s parents, who had supported Grindelwald’s reign, then she could do without meeting them. 

“Yes, he’s from France, just like me. He’s staying with me for a few weeks.” She settled on and peered at her bloodied quivering hands. She had to make sure she got to him first, or God forbid he would talk about magic and wizards, and explain to him where he was.

“I see,” the woman responded, and Aubrey took a seat in one of the seats she was directed to. She stared at the highly polished linoleum floor and peered at the hand-sanitiser dispensers on the wall. After several minutes, the adrenaline leaving her system, she became hyper-aware of the blood caking her hands, the front of her coat and hems of her sleeves. It took another few minutes, before she came aware of the looks she received from Muggles passing her in search or support of a loved one and Aubrey curled her legs up, leaning her chin on her knees, effectively shielding the worst of the blood on her person.

After sitting there for what felt like hours, but must have been only half an hour, one of the doctors came to see her. He was not treating her boyfriend, but he did need his information and the people he should contact. Aubrey almost choked on her own saliva at that before mumbling that there was no one to contact but her. His parents weren’t around and his brother — she made it up as she came along — was in America for business, but she could send him a mail. 

The man, in his late forties with greying hair and tired greenish eyes, looked sceptical and pushing his thumbs through the loopholes of his white coat. He leaned his weight on his right leg and pursed his lips; “And you’re sure we can’t contact anyone?”

‘Apart from a bunch of bigots, who might try and feed you your liver? Nope—’

“Yes,” she nodded almost too eager and caught herself. “It’s why he came to visit me while the school year was about to start. Because with his brother gone, he had no one to stay with…”

“As a minor—” the doctor started and she shrugged her shoulders.

“In two months no longer a minor,” she conceded simply already thinking about spelling her passport and looking for a good cover story. The hospital didn’t have the resources to find out about some boy from France staying over and she was rather pleased with her swift thinking. Of course, she would need him to confirm her story and then, when he was awake, she would have to persuade him to go to his parents. She suspected it wasn’t a pleasant way to come home. Especially not, considering the dubious history his parents had. 

She doubted being found in a Muggle neighbourhood would do his reputation any good. 

After another hour a different doctor came to her. The boy was stable, had lost a lot of blood, and yes, whatever it was he’d been stabbed with had punctured the liver. He would live and the child was lucky they had been capable to safely resect the wounded part. If anything Mister Baudon (skeptically peering at the name scribbled on the clipboard; ‘Am I saying that right?’) was lucky they didn’t have to remove the gallbladder. To give his body enough rest they kept him in an induced coma for a few days and would see how he’d be doing then. Aubrey nodded thoughtfully. 

“Perhaps a change of clothes would be good.” The man explained as he told her goodbye. “He will be brought to a room on the third floor.”

“All right,” she nodded, “thank you!”

When she left the hospital, she slumped down behind the wheel of her car and leant her head on her forearms. “Oh Fuck, how do you always get yourself into this kind of trouble?”

With everything that happened that days he hadn’t even visited her mother and tiredly started the engine and drove home. Judy waved happily, her smile tightening when she took in her appearance, before leaving and she walked tiredly down the hall to the apartment’s kitchen, dropping her rain-coat over her chair. She set her bag on the kitchen counter and locked her eyes with her reflection in the glass of the magnetron. There was still a dark smudge of blood on her chin and cheek and her hair looked tousled. She reached up, grabbed a clutch of her thick, dark, auburn hair and unwound the knot. Her hair fell around her face and she couldn’t squash the extreme need, to go and shower. 

The boiler in the bathroom zoomed softly and with trembling hands she washed her face and scrubbed her hands with lukewarm water and soap until the water tinged pink. When the water turned cold, she quietly changed into her pyjamas, feeling slightly better when the pink, fluffy material wrapped snuggly around her. 

Chewing on her lower-lip, she peered up at the large mirror above the sink. She certainly didn’t look forward to the conversation she was going to have with a very blond, very rich Pure-blood boy when he woke up. When she’d met him, years ago, he was a little blond terror and she grimaced at the memory. Aubrey didn’t think, he would remember that particular moment, but she did. She doubted he would feel all that at home at a Muggle hospital and her teeth firmly lodged into her lower-lip. Still, he couldn’t be as bad as the newspapers proclaimed his family was if he fled to a Muggle neighbourhood and she dropped her washing-cloth into the sink. 

The bath was surprisingly clean and gleaming, although equally unremarkable as the rest of the house and she filled the basin with water, dropping her bloodstained clothes into it. She doubted the blood would be fully washed out, but she could at least try. Leaning her hands on the sink she peered at the meds and the personal products in the medicine cabinet and the cheap shampoo and the soap on the sink beside the towel rack. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she mumbled softly to herself and peered at the sour expression on her face.

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll enjoyed this new chapter and let me know what you'll think. Good or bad, I do enjoy everyone thoughts.


	3. A devastating blast

Chapter Two, A devastating blast

Aubrey Harper peered over the stretch of old asphalt road, driving towards the Hospital and passing the suburb of London. The houses and the roads had seen better days, large cracks running up the dark bitumen road and the paint of the houses curling like mouldy rinds. She peered out of the window of her car, peering briefly at a rusted playground. Squeaky wooden swings swung in the chilly wind and little children wound around and about the metal columns. The playground was dangerous, it was old and the industrial air was thick around them.   
She flicked on her turn signal and trapped the brakes before the traffic lights. When it became green she passed a row of deserted warehouses lined the right side of the street. Her schoolbag sat in the passenger seat, she’d just bought vegetables sticking out of the rim. A horn blared and she pulled up, driving onto the parking lot of the hospital. 

The building loomed up against the stark, grey London skyline and she sat silently in her car. She’d taken a parking-spot just mere metres outside of the hospital. She was looking up at the gloomy hospital building. It was huge and had been remodelled almost ten years ago. Exhaling softly, she stepped out of the cramped little car, a slight ache behind her temple from the comments her rude little sister had thrown at her. She crossed the parking space, looping her fingers through the loops on her jeans and dropped her keys into the pocket of her coat. 

The heating system buzzed softly as she entered the hospital. A wave of warm air greeted her and she rubbed her suddenly tingling hands together. A large desk stood in the middle of the entrance hall and the large stones gleamed in the neon light. Her shoes squeaked on the smooth floor and she quickened her pace when she noticed the elevator doors on the other end of the hall close.

“Please hold it for me!”

A man, wet umbrella dripping a puddle around his feet, stuck his hand out to keep the door open and she smiled gratefully before jumping through the doors. “Thank you,”

He didn’t answer but nodded curtly to her. She spent ten minutes staring at her mother’s cart. Nothing had changed though, and after placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, Aubrey trekked out of her mother’s room again. Malfoy — for she knew now who he was, the morning edition of the Prophet had been filled with his attempted murder and disappearance — was in a room on the third floor. To stall, she took the stairs instead of the elevator. What was she supposed to say to him? 

Obviously, he hadn’t wanted to be found, but now, with the explosion, everyone would think he was dead. She’d seen the picture of his scorched wand and although they should have been tipped of by the lack of a body, she knew wizards normally had no idea about the Muggle world. As far as they knew, the explosion would have scorched anyone until there wasn’t even a trace left. 

The corridors are stuff and the air has the poignant undertone of bleach and the walls are made of magnolia with cheap, printed paintings. She stepped through the double doors into the ward where the boy’s room is and looked for number 24. The hallway had just as much personality as the rest of the hospital and the rooms are all copies of each other. She found the room, at the end of the children ward and exhaled loudly. Opening her coat, she hesitated outside of the room and stared at the noses of her shoes. The floor is slate grey and the light from the harsh neon lights are too bright. 

Two nurses passed her, both shooting her an amused look and with a sigh, Aubrey pushed the door open and slowly peered inside. 

All the blinds were drawn, and to not make a spectacle of herself, she slowly walked into the room, her eyes blinking against the semi-darkness. The door fell closed behind her and she curiously peered at one of the commercial prints on the wall. It wasn’t very tasteful in a kid’s room, and she looked around once more. A large white cabinet stood by itself in the corner while a clamp was placed on his finger, checking his heart-rate. 

She rubbed her hands nervously together while the heart monitor beeped rhythmically in the background. There was a tube connected to his arm and Aubrey followed the tube to a clear bag hanging from a rack. 

The boy was still asleep, a clipboard on his nightstand and she curiously peered at the handwriting. The surgery went well, the wound on his side had been stitched up and his blood values had been stabilised. His clothes were folded, placed on a squeaky green chair and Aubrey stepped closer. She didn’t think he should be wearing those anytime soon. The large bloodstains and the rip in the material were hardly adequate. 

Aubrey sat down at a squeaky chair, folding her hands in her lap. The explosion had been violent and two people had been killed by the blast, at least a hundred hurt. The Muggle newspapers were full of the explosion that had taken place three days ago. The Wizarding papers were full of the disappearance of Draco Malfoy. The article was accompanied by several photos of the boy so she could say with absolute accuracy it was the same child sleeping on the bed. Even with the dark hair, he could not be mistaken as anyone else then Draco Malfoy.

The same Draco Malfoy who’d mumbled on about if she could please help. Well, he hadn’t used the word please, but she’d understood it anyway. The Daily Prophet had run a story about the boy’s mother, also accompanied by pictures and a few lines about Malfoy’s imprisoned father. She carefully pulled the newspaper out of her backpack and peered at the picture at arm’s length in her left hand.

“Where am I?”

She would have screamed if she wasn’t used to patients doing that more often. She’d been in contact with patients on a regular basis during her internship, yet she still eyed him with large, wide eyes. He stared back, eyebrows furrowed. 

Folding the paper, she dropped it in her bag and shifted to the edge of her seat. “At the Hospital. How are you feeling?”

“As if I was run over by a hippogriff. Actually, let me rephrase that, this actually feels worse.”

She flinched slightly at the term Hippogriff and he eyed her with cold grey eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell the— nurses? They’re called nurses, don’t they?”

“Yes,” she admitted before getting to her feet and opened the blinds a bit. He narrowed his eyes and slowly, soggily brought his hand up to his face to shade it from the sun. 

“Well, I didn’t call them. I don’t want to be burned at a stake after all.”

She decided to ignore that last statement and leant her chin on the palm of her hand, shooting him a curious glance. “How did you get there?”

“It’s called magic.”

“You do realise that if I were Muggle, I would have thought you to be insane and might have made an appointment with a resident highly-qualified psychiatrist, don’t you?”

“A what?”

“Never mind,” she told him tiredly. He reminded her of her sister. Pointless discussions and stupid sarcastic commentary on everything she did; The big difference between him and her sister was that Gemma was a child and this boy was her age. Say a month or two older or younger, but her age. “What happened that got you stranded on Isle of Dogs in London? It’s a long way from Scotland if I might say.”

“I don’t know…” he muttered softly.

“Did you get splinched?”

“No,”

“Malfoy, you were hurt. They spent a good few hours stitching you up.” She told him slowly. “And you were quite cryptic, do you remember that? You told me not to tell anyone…”

“That’s why you brought me to a muggle hospital did you?” He asked before his eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh right,” she whispered. She could understand how that would worry him. “I read it in the newspaper. Actually, I might have recognised you when I found you yesterday, but I hadn’t really registered it. Your— erm, your name was in the paper last summer. Quite a lot actually.”

Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d met him two years prior during the World Cup, but quite obviously he didn’t remember her. Yet, she remembered him rather well. She had come along with her best friend cheering for her favourite team when all hell broke loose. She recalled the screams of torment and the cries of children in pure, blind panic well. Witches and wizards had been running for their lives and the Death Eaters, tightly packed together, had bewitched the unconscious bodies of an unknown Muggle family just for fun. It was hard to forget such a horrible night, especially when you were squarely dressed, being shoved from in directions and had to listen to a blond, arrogant rich kid who loudly exclaimed that: ‘all the Mudbloods should watch where they were going’. 

It wasn’t a fond memory she had of him, but right now, she didn’t think it was the memory she should tell him about. 

“Right,” he muttered. There was a slight almost invisible bruise under his right eye-socket and his cheekbones were prominently visible. Even without the wounds, he’d recently received he looked really bad. Like a malnourished child and she shifted in her seat.

“I— I’m sorry, that wasn’t pleasant from me.” She softly whispered, intertwining her fingers on her lap. “My name is Aubrey. Aubrey Harper. You were lucky you ran into me.”

“Was I?”

“You were in this case.” She told him. “You would have been blown up otherwise. Listen, I didn’t notify anyone that you’re here.” She started slowly. “Just like you asked me, but don’t you want me to inform your parents?”

His eyes widened almost comically and he shook his head. “No!”

“They think you’re dead!” She huffed slowly. “Don’t you get that. They think you died during the Muggle explosion. Think you couldn’t get away because you got splinched.”

“But I didn’t.”

“No, but how do you expect them to know that?”

“They won’t get hurt if I’m dead.” He muttered. “I won’t get hurt if I’m dead.”

She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head and shook her hair out of her face. This boy was insane. Quite obviously so. She understood to some level that he didn’t want his parents knowing that he fled from, whatever he fled from, towards the Muggle world, but how could he even entertain the idea of leaving his parents in the dark. 

“It’s not right.”

“You must have been a Gryffindor.” He snapped coldly. “The martyr thing is quite obvious and quite annoying.”

“Oh, bite me.” She shot back. “I didn’t go to Hogwarts. I went to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic”

“France?”

“Yes, about that, how is your French?”

His eyebrows furrowed even more before his fingers twisted into his duvet. “Acceptable, I suppose. My father’s family was originally from France and we do have a villa there.”

“Right, rich kid.” She nodded. “Well, I told the nurses you’re from France if you want them to not go to the police you better stay with that explanation.”

“Police?”

“Muggle-Aurors.” She explained stiffly, fingers harshly massaging her shoulders. “They would probably put your picture in the paper. I know it’s popular believe that the Muggle world and the Wizarding world do not interact at all, but believe me, the Ministry is keeping an close eye to what the Muggle world is doing right now, considering they think you got blown up to pieces.”

“I chose a nice place to go to.”

“Run to, you mean?” Aubrey asked before sighing when the door opened. A doctor, dark-haired and stony-faced, stepped into the room and she gave the blond boy a warning glare. 

“Ah Mister Bastien Baudouin, right?”

Malfoy guffawed like a fish and shot her a look she knew to interpret as ‘seriously’, before peering at the doctor and nodded curtly. The scowl on his face intense, but the fear on his face was palpable. She hadn’t thought he might have actually been afraid for paramedics. Curious…

“You were very lucky.” The doctor told him and started to explain what they had done and Malfoy — to his credit — started the conversation in perfect French. A hairline fracture under the head of the femur, which meant he wouldn’t be able to walk for a couple of weeks and Aubrey’s eyes widened. She hadn’t read anything about that. Then again, she’d only spied on his surgery card and the hairline fracture didn’t have to be mentioned in that. Except for the hairline fracture, there was also the fresh wound on his stomach which needed time to heal, but the doctor expected he would be able to leave the hospital after four days. 

“Where am I to go?” Malfoy asked and she was somewhat intrigued by the switch from frightened to manipulative. 

“I was under the impression you could stay with your girlfriend.” The doctor said and Malfoy’s polite, yet frightened, expression waned and he peered at Aubrey again. ‘Boyfriend’, he mouthed at her and she shrugged her shoulders. 

“Assuming she has the time.” He added, rather slyly and Aubrey knew he was overseeing his moves as if he was playing chess.

An involuntary tremor seized her and she wrapped her arms around her chest. “I do study, but of course I have time to look after you. Honey.” She added, and he shot her a self-satisfied smirk before turning to the doctor who seemed rather pleased. She didn’t think she’d ever met someone who could manipulate so efficiently. 

She leaned against the windowsill and ran her fingers through her hair, a headache already blooming behind her temples. Perhaps she could drop him off at one of his friends. Sure he had some friends who would vouch for him?

“Hm,” the doctor nodded thoughtfully, scribbling something down on his clipboard and Aubrey’s eyes flitted to the door. She didn’t think that taking a leave was very ‘girl-friend-like’ of her, but staying and being manipulated even more didn’t look very appealing.

He questioned Malfoy for the better part of an hour and rather impressively the boy told the man a very similar story she herself had thought up. The man left with a pleased smile on his face and when the door shut behind him with a thud the blond sat up straight and threw one leg over the etch of his bed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She asked him.

“Get me out of here!” He stressed and her expression was perfectly blank as her mind tried to catch up with him. 

“Are you delusional?” She asked him. “I just told you I don’t have any experience with healing dark magic and you want to leave the hospital where they stitched you up and helped you?”

“They took a part of my liver!”

“You moron, the liver can recuperate from that. If they hadn’t you would have bled out!” She snapped.

He eyed her with wide eyes before: “How old are you?”

“Sixteen, I turn seventeen in May.”

“And you are— studying in college?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed as if the word was foreign in his mouth. It probably was.

“Yes,” she admitted slowly, “the school system at Beauxbaton is different from Hogwarts. You can speed your education along if necessary.”

“If necessary?”

“When you’re bored and need a get-out-of-the-country-card for example.” She told him matter-of-factly. Malfoy slowly pushed his leg under the duvet again and winced. There was a wheelchair situated next to the boy’s bed and two crutches in the corner. 

“You study to become a healer?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “it’s a combination of Muggle college and Healer practice. You need both.”

“Never knew that.” He muttered.

“Never wanted to be a healer I take it.”

“Not really,” he muttered. 

A nurse, pushing a trolley with tea and coffee, passed the boy’s hospital room and Aubrey was glad for the diversion. The tea was sweet and strong and she sat there drinking the hot liquid and spoke slowly to Malfoy. His fingers scratched at the IV insertion in his left arm almost constantly. At least he hadn’t ripped it out yet and she sighed softly.

“Were you serious?”

His fingers paused above the red-scratched skin and the protruding veins and he peered up at her with guarded, cold eyes. “About what?”

“About coming with me? You do realise it would be much easier to ask someone you trust and know… You know someone with a different blood status?”

“If that was an option, don’t you think I would have opted it by now?”

“Wow, you’re really heading in the right direction with that one.” She told him dryly, bunching up the sleeve on her left arm and peered at her wristwatch. “I have to go. Even with the sob-story about our forbidden romance, I’m sure they’re not going to bend the rules anymore for me than they’ve already done.”

“Hm, right.”

“What size do you wear?”

“Size?” He asked slowly.

“Oh God, you mean everything you wear and wore was tailored?” She asked aghast. 

“Well, yes, of course. We have more than a significant amount of money, so why not?” He snapped back and she opened her bag, retrieved a simple plastic bag and scooped up his bloodied clothes. “What are you going to do with those?”

“I’m not a tailor and I can’t tell from looking at you what your size might be, so I’ll take those with me. I appear to have a natural talent for lying so I’m sure I can sell a believable story why I don’t have a size but do have bloodied clothes to go on while shopping for clothes for my so-called-boyfriend. Don’t get yourself killed while I’m away and do as the doctors say. They might want to run some tests on you to see how you’re doing. Just try not to freak out, all right?”

“I am not stupid.” He muttered and she left him to his own devices with a heavy heart. She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to all of this. Being a healer and helping people was one thing. Being stupid enough and getting personally involved and invested that was an entirely other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually saw this scene in my head when I was writing it. My brother thought I'd fully lost it and I hope you'll all like it! Let me know what you all think! I'd love to get some feedback on this!


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